


Perdre du Temps en Détruisant une Danse, or, From the Balcony

by Melodic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, friends with benefits who don't want to admit they're catching feelings, unnecessary cruelty towards ballerinas, various implied petty crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodic/pseuds/Melodic
Summary: Widowmaker and Sombra are not dating. The fact that Sombra insists on dragging Widowmaker to various locales in a manner that would typically constitute a date for anyone else, in this case to a performance of a ballet one of them had known quite well before becoming an assassin, is of no importance.Sombra is not very good at this type of dancing, but Widowmaker knows how to lead.





	Perdre du Temps en Détruisant une Danse, or, From the Balcony

Widowmaker had been standing outside for 15 minutes, dressed to the nines. She double checked the time and address; she was definitely in the right place. Sombra was just late, again. Her text hadn't given any details besides where and when and to wear something formal. It was a cold night, and though the temperature caused Widowmaker no discomfort she was starting to get strange looks from passerby. She was about to give up when an autonomous cab came screaming up the street, and the door popped open to reveal Sombra, reclined with her feet on the dash and grinning in a strapless purple dress she had almost certainly purchased with someone else's credit card. 

"Did you hack this?" Widowmaker asked.

"Well duh, otherwise it'd charge us for the ride. Get in."

Widowmaker did not even get a chance to put her seat belt on before Sombra tapped something on her holographic interface and they sped off, the streetlights stretching into mere flashes that passed by as quickly as they arrived. 

"Glad you could make it to date night."

"We are not dating."

"Right, I just keep your bed warm because your icy blue heart can't do it on your own, no? We'll just be friends who screw around and go on fun nights out together once in a while."

"Bullshit, that is the exact definition of dating. And we're not friends either."

"Semantics, Amélie." said Sombra, and booped her nose. Widowmaker stared daggers.

Sombra flashed her a grin and then turned back to her interface. There was something entrancing about the casual grace she had, made all the more infuriating by how you knew she wasn't trying. It was always immediately obvious when Sombra was making a conscious attempt to seem cool, because then she would wear those awful shoes with the toes in them and quote obscure movies from 1995. It was embarrassing to be seen with. She wasn't bothering with any of that now, though. Her position was relaxed and comfortable but her eyes were focused, scrolling through thousands of data points faster than it should have been possible to read any of them, opening new windows and then dismissing them with a wave of her hand when it became clear they didn't have what she needed. There was a strange kind of intimacy in watching Sombra work. She was unguarded then, like you weren't even there. She'd styled her undercut into soft curls and her makeup muddled the line between "artfully messy" and "actually put on two minutes before she left the house." Her screens and implants cast a pale lavender glow over her. She looked good. Her fingers moved with rapid precision, tapping and typing and dragging her way through some arcane algorithm in a way that was both inscrutable and fascinating, which is why Widowmaker didn't hear her when she suddenly asked a question.

"Hola? You listening, spider?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked for your music of choice. We've got a bit of a ride."

"Doesn't matter."

"Anything I don't have I can immediately download, so, like, pick literally anything."

"That doesn't sound necessary."

"I'm running at 9000.01 mbps right now. Seriously."

"I really don't care, Sombr-- _attendez,_ how much?" at which point they were interrupted by the car going over a speed bump at about 80 miles an hour, knocking the wind out of both of them.

"....How many red lights have we run, exactly?" she asked, gripping the door handle for safety.

"Dunno. I can pull up the traffic cam footage if you want, though." Sombra was completely unbothered as soon as she caught her breath again.

"If you're going to override the safety protocols in the self-driving program--"

"I already did, obviously."

"Obviously. Please don't get us involved in another police chase."

"You say that, but you seemed to be having fun at the time." Sombra said, with a smile so smug it made her want to wipe it clean off her face, and not like she had when they made out while running from the police. She hated when Sombra brought up things they'd done before, like it mattered. As if she thought it was more than just something to do. A glass of wine with Moira, Reaper's soap operas, Sombra's little "dates." _Tuer le temps._ Empty distractions. 

Instead she just sighed, resigned. "You still haven't told me where we're going." 

"It's a surprise!" Sombra replied, and refused to answer any more questions about it for the rest of the ride. She pressed a button and a loud spanish pop song started playing from the speakers, and she dismissed the holographic screens in one smooth motion.

Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of a white, ostentatiously grand building. They got out (the car sped away, it's purpose complete, dismissed with a single button press) and Widowmaker read the sign and stared in confusion.

"You brought me...to an opera house."

Sombra put her hands on her hips, clearly proud of herself. "We've got tickets to see the Nutcracker."

"The what?"

"The ballet thing? I know your old favorite was Swan Lake, but this was what I could do under the circumstances." 

Widowmaker blinked, processing this. "Why?"

"Well, since our last date went so badly--"

"Attempting to assassinate a world leader is not a date, Sombra."

"Not with that attitude."

"Reaper was there the entire time."

"Anyway." and now swung her arm around Widowmaker and yanked her close, so they stood awkwardly side by side, "I know how disappointing it is for you when you don't get to kill anyone, Amélie, so I thought I'd cheer you up with something more to your tastes. Feeling nostalgic?"

"I don't feel anything." and her voice was hard and ice cold and final. 

Sombra's chipper demeanor faltered, for just a second, before she simply proclaimed that she already had the tickets, so they had to go anyway. She grabbed her by the hand, a little roughly, and started heading towards the building.

Sombra was uncharacteristically quiet as they made their way through the lavish halls, checked their coats and had their tickets taken. No snarky comments or remarks. She didn't even call her "Amélie" as if that were still her name. It confounded. Why would she bring her here, to something like this of all places, if not to mock her? Unless--

...Unless it was a real, sincere attempt to find something she would enjoy.

_Mon dieu._ This woman really didn't have any other friends, did she. 

They got balcony seats, and the lights went down, and the show began. Sombra, looking a bit sour, leaned back and once again put her feet up, which was simply not done at a place like this, so with a sense of resentfulness towards the whole situation Widowmaker allowed it without comment. 

Widowmaker did not know how she was expected to react to being in a place like this again, hearing the familiar tinkling bells of the overture. She had done this, once. She remembered every en pointe step, and still knew the score by heart. In fact, she was almost surprised to find she felt absolutely nothing. Neither nostalgia nor anger, just the same apathy she felt everywhere else. As the starring ballerina twirled her way onto the stage, out of habit Widowmaker found herself mentally lining up the perfect shot.

She turned back to Sombra, who was loudly chewing a food definitely not permitted in the theater, and remarked, "She's terrible."

"Who?"

"Their Clara." she continued, in a tone so haughty it is doubtful anyone outside France could manage it. "Horrible. Did you see that arabesque? Her technique is all off. I could do better in my _sleep._ " she said it with venom, and crossed her arms and looked at her companion conspiratorially. 

Sombra smiled, catching on. "Yeah, and that's the ugliest tutu I've ever seen." 

"She almost tripped when she was landing that sissone, just for a second. Amateur."

"She's probably mortified!" she laughed. 

"I hope so, if she has any self respect. I'd have to quit out of shame if I ever danced like that."

"I bet the director is going to destroy her afterwards."

"If they don't, the reviews will rip her to shreds." she said, with a smile. "She'll probably be fired."

"She's off-beat, too. When she did that jumpy thing."

"Saut de chat. It was heinous. I'm impressed that you noticed."

"I'm very attentive."

"I hope you didn't pay too much for these tickets."

Sombra snorted. "You think I pay for anything?"

As the night wore on they spent all of Act 2 gleefully tearing apart the starring ballerina's every step, in addition to her hairstyle, dress, shoes, and eyeliner with abject cruelty, throwing in some baseless speculation about how many of the mice she was fucking behind the scenes. Rarely has one dancer ever been demolished so precisely or gratuitously, for no real reason at all. 

By the time they left, it was late, and as they exited the building they realized that while they were inside it had started to rain. "Well," said Sombra, giggling and holding onto her arm, "That was awful."

"Let's never do it again." Widowmaker replied.

"Did you see that last dance the fairy did, before the finale?"

"It was dreadful, yes." 

"The worst. It was like," she hopped off the steps and into the downpour, ignoring it, and rather badly attempted to imitate a twirl.

"That is _not_ how--honestly, who taught you to dance? Come here." Widowmaker stepped forward and grabbed Sombra's hand, raising it, and put her other one on her lower back, guiding them into a waltz.

"You're freezing, you know." 

"Spiders don't feel cold."

"That's pretentious bullshit." she declared, unsure which of them she was trying to convince, already soaked through and shivering but not letting go. 

"It is a fact." she said, "Now follow me. Right foot forward, and then--"

Sombra was not a bad dancer, but she had no idea how to waltz, especially on a slippery sidewalk with no music and wearing five inch heels. Widowmaker knew how to lead, though, and swept her through the basic steps with such ease that it was hard to even notice Sombra's fumbles. She ended with a flourish and a dip, because she was nothing if not proud of her work, and for a few seconds they both held that position, frozen in time and abruptly aware of their own ridiculousness. 

Sombra reached up and used her shoulder to pull herself up to standing, and then she kissed her, and for Sombra it mostly felt like kissing ice but for just a second Amélie almost swore she felt her own heart actually beat. She hated it, and wished it would happen again.

"You are the worst dance partner I've ever had." was all she could manage to say, as the world started to flood around them. 

Sombra smiled at her deviously. "Yes, but I'm the cutest, right?"

"You're going to get sick."

"Aww, worried about me?"

"Of course not." she said, and leaned forward and kissed her again, and somewhere in the distance thunder clapped loud enough that she didn't have to hear her heartbeat again.


End file.
